The Deeds of Saints
by Anger House
Summary: The greatest tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.  [W. Somerset Maugham] Renji has been sent to the human world to reform, can Ichigo be apart of it?  This is their prosaic story. [Shounenai]
1. Chapter 1

_This fiction contains __offensive material__. Please do not read without an open mind. _

**THE DEEDS OF SAINTS**

**chapter one: my doctor eats love**

I've got this problem. Don't get me wrong; I didn't always have it. I was actually born a normal, happy kid. Although, I don't remember much of the times when I was alive. Maybe that's part of the problem, but I remember being happy. Or maybe, just the word 'happy.' I can't really be sure. I died when I seven though, I remember that. But I don't remember how. Maybe that's part of the problem to.

To tell the truth, I don't know when it happened. It felt like a long time coming, but it was sudden like a loud snap and, well, everything started to go downhill.

Have you felt detached from the world? Like, as if to say everything is the shits and nothing matters anyway? I've never been a nihilist. Actually, I was the opposite. I was attached to people. I cared about them. I cared about justice. I was actually a lieutenant captain. I didn't just uphold justice. I was justice and people looked up to me. Today, at this exact moment, I ruined all that.

I have my arm curled around Jushiro Ukitake and in my hand is the braided hilt of my sword. I watch the little lump in his throat dance around the steel edge. I could slit him open if I wanted to, but I don't. Not really.

I'm being evaluated at this moment, so no one interferes. This is a match meant for me to show-off. They want to promote me to captain, and I don't really care either way. This when the sudden snap happens. Quick and loud- just snap! And suddenly I'm telling Jushiro Ukitake that I'm going to kill his subordinates in front of him.

Like I said, I have a problem.

They have no idea and I can hear Jushiro Ukitake yelling behind me. Surprise is creeping into their faces. They really have no idea. I'm about to kill them and they have no idea. They're both in my reach now, but I go for Kiyone Kotetsu first. I've got my hand wrapped around her scrawny neck and I could snap it. I feel her bones squeezing closer and closer together. Then I realize that I'm killing her. She's got tears in her eyes and her mouth is open. She's making the most disgusting noises. My guess is that she's trying to breath. I tell her not to worry, that it'll all be over soon and it is, because Byakuya Kuchiki is looming behind me. I release her. She's squirming around my feet like a worm and sucking in air like a fish.

"Well," I hear myself saying. "What do you think? Do I make captain, Byakuya?" That's the first time I addressed him so unceremoniously and I didn't even get to see his face because he knocked me out so fast.

And so, here I am now. Stripped of my privileges and bound up in a cell, and I don't really care. I told you, I had a problem. It's times like these that I wish I could see my parents. I'd wave to them from behind these bars and smile, saying 'thank you! Thank you!' And I'd go on and on about how they should have loved me more. 'If only you'd hugged me, I'd be such a better person!' But, then again, I don't remember my parents. So maybe they did hug me. Maybe that's part of problem too.

I must be genetically defective. That's gotta be the problem. I cannot be held responsible. It's not my fault after all; it's my parents. I didn't ask to be born and I certainly didn't ask for this. Then again, I don't really care.

…

In the morning I'm standing with my hands bound in front of an old man, who's condemning me. I wonder if age entitles you to privilege. If you're old and near death, you're given honor even if don't deserve it. His lips are shaking, and shiny with saliva. He tells me how ashamed I should be. How inexcusable my behavior is. How could you, you're an assistant captain? You had honor. Deserved honor. You see, judge. My parents didn't hug me. It's not my fault. Then his face would soften and nod.

Well, after an hour, it appears I'm not going to be executed. With all honesty, I didn't expect to be. They tell me I'm fortunate to be given such a gracious pardon. These old people are full of bullshit. I'm not even going to be exiled. See how lucky I am? They tell me I'm not even going to be demoted. Now that, on the other hand, did surprise me.

Instead my position was being suspended. They were sending me into rehabilitation. Oh, really? Are they going to hug me there? Will they love me until I'm better?

The old man keeps on mumbling. Apparently this rehabilitation center is in the human world. This way my spiritual powers can be suppressed. I'm escorted out of the courtroom and I'm released from my binds by Rangiku Matsumoto. She looks at me with her little face. Her fat lips parting and she says to me, "Renji, this isn't like you." No shit. "What's going on?"

My parents didn't hug me. "They're sending me to rehab. Maybe I drink too much."

"I was there for the hearing. What I want to know is _what_ is going on?"

"I'm being sent over to Retsu Unohana to find out. If you're interested then come along." Her face scrunches and she kindly refuses, saying she has to report to Toshiro Hitsugaya soon. I wave her off.

Isn't that always the way with women? They get in your face and demand to know what you're thinking; and as soon as you indulge them, they clatter off with better things to do. Actually, I'm surprised this certain small woman hasn't surfaced yet. I expected her black head to be bobbing into my vision, but I didn't catch sight of her anywhere. And then I see her, walking beside her stepbrother solemnly, Rukia Kuchiki. Did you know I almost died twice for that woman? She won't even look at me right now. She moves right past me. Well, isn't that always the way with women?

…

"Antisocial Personality Disorder." This is what Retsu Unohana tells me. Her voice is quiet and placid. Does she think this is a kindness to me? That she is doing me a favor by speaking to me with sympathy? Really, her words would mean the same to me no matter how she spoke them. They are only words- just words with no meaning. She tells my escort that the rehabilitation center is already informed of my pending arrival.

They know all about me because she has told them. Yes, Ms. Unohana, you have my thanks! After all, who knows me better than you? Hey, I let you probe my body and then we're on this whole new intimate level. Ain't it grand? I'll even let you cut open my skull and have a gander. This way, you'll know everything I'm thinking. We'll be like lovers.

"I'm assured that these doctors can help you with your condition, Lt. Abarai. You'll be in the best of hands." Oh, fuck. They are going to hug me after all.

…

Byakuya Kuchiki was the one who escorted me into the human world. To Karakura Town. I'm not sure why, but it sounded familiar. Was I born there perhaps?

Byakuya didn't say a word. He looked only ahead with his stone-carved face. I want to tell him that he isn't _that_ pretty. He needn't walk with me as if flaunting himself down a runway. What a hardass. I've known him for a long time. I used to watch him, study him. I wanted to know all his flaws and weaknesses. I memorized them, the whole while avoiding his gaze and afraid to be noticed. Now I'd forgotten the feeling. I wasn't afraid because I didn't give a shit.

We parted ways and I breathed easier for it. I could slouch now. I waited, standing alone by the street. There would be a car to pick me up. It would bring me to the rehabilitation center, to the nuthouse. This is where I would revert to my old self again. I'd morph into that laudable, grinning lieutenant, who's fit for work and happy to do it. A car pulls up in front of me and I wonder if a letter has been sent out. I imagine it would read: _Incoming, Lt. Renji Abarai-Grade 'A' nutcase_. And it would be signed with a glossy, red kiss from Retsu Unohana.

I get into the car with my "Antisocial Personality Disorder" swimming around inside me, waiting to be fished out by more doctors, who would know me like a lover. Help me, I feel belittled.

…

The place is huge and its walls are slathered in white stucco. I'm escorted through a glass, revolving door. It smells like cleaner inside, the kind the makes you want to sneeze. The walls are patterned with tall windows- an overlooked safety hazard I suppose. I can almost see a slight man limping down the hall. There would be icy shards sticking through him. I just wanted to look out the window, he'd say. I never meant to kill myself.

I'm brought up an elevator to the fourth floor and taken down a bright hallway. There are no windows down this hallway, only steel doors with plastic screens. You can look into the rooms this way. "Precautions must be taken with these patients. It's only to ensure their safety, but don't worry Mr. Abarai. Your room isn't on this floor." This is what my nameless escort tells me. He says I also have a room with a balcony.

He hands me my bag when we reach the top floor. "Is this your only belongings?" he asks me as I take the bag.

"It is," I say. My room has a number above the door. 746. And I think there is no way that there are over seven hundred rooms in this building. I guess it means floor 7, room 46. I close the door behind me. It looks like a hotel room, a nice one. There's a big bed, a phone, a television, my own bathroom and yes, the balcony. I step outside and have a look around. I take a mental note. Only rooms on the seventh floor have balconies. I look over to the right and imagine my neighbor throwing himself off it. He'd say, 'I was only trying to escape. I didn't mean to kill myself.'

Or maybe he would survive and as I pass through the fourth floor, I would see him through the plastic screens.

…

There are times in ones life where music should accompany it. This is one of those times. This is where orchestral sounds should fade in and play as a camera zooms onto my face. The camera would just keep zooming and zooming and the music would play louder; an audience would watch, anxious and waiting for me to speak. Oh, look his lips moved! Quick cut the sound!

"So I just take this every morning?" I say to the doctor in front of me, speaking over his explanation. He looks as if he's been insulted.

"Yes," he says, stuttering through the words. Oh my, director! Can we do this scene again? My co-star appears to have forgotten his line. The doctor gapes and I envision his pulsing brain. He seems lost for words. Finally he speaks, "Mr. Abarai, don't you want to know what I'm prescribing for you? It is important. Please, sit back down and allow me to explain."

"No, no." I say. "There's no need. I'll take them, just hand them over." He passes me the plastic, blue bottle. The pills insides are tiny and pink.

"You'll have another appointment in about three weeks. We'll be increasing the dosage. These pills are chemical stabilizers and they can be difficult on the body. Please, do not skip a single dose and take it at the same time each day. I recommend in the mornings."

"You got it," I say and toss a pill into my mouth and it melts a little on my tongue before I can swallow it. Now there's a bitter taste left in my mouth. That was more disgusting than I originally thought. I'll take it with water next time. I notice the doctor giving me a curious look. "What?" I say. "It's morning."

I'm allowed to leave the building whenever I chose. I have no curfew. This is my reward for not being too insane. I leave as soon as the doctor is done with me. I'm straight out the door and onto the street. I have nowhere to go, so I'm walking aimlessly. Down this street, up that one and through an alley, I'm just walking.

The sky is still bright. Not much time has passed. It occurs to me that I've been down this street before. I remember the look of the houses that are weaved between the local shops. I let my feet move from memory. I follow this familiar trail, but why is it familiar?

I've got nothing but time, so I keep on moving through this recollected neighborhood. Then it dawns on me. This is where those ryoka are from. Karakura Town: Orihime Inoue; Yasutora Sado; Ichigo Kurosaki and that one guy who shot arrows… Ishta something or other, the Quincy. And all this information pours through me as I'm looking onto their high school.

There are kids moving around out front, so I'm guessing that it must be lunch hour. I'm about to leave when some guy calls me out. He's shouting and cursing and his words are mixed up with human slang that I don't understand. All I know is that he started moving towards me. He says something about me trying to look like a thug. Me? A thug? More rowdy kids move behind him. Their uniforms are messy. One guy has a steel bolt through his septum.

He tells me I look ridiculous and not frightening at all. I felt the same about him and he was beginning to bother me. I tell him to get lost, but he persists. I really don't have a clue why he's doing this. He mentioned something about another high school. He told me that I was from it and that 'my friends' had ripped him off.

Do I look like I'm in high school? I thought I would at least look like an adult in this world. I happen to be over a century old, but maybe this gigai looked younger. Then it occurs to me. The shinigami from the research department must have fashioned this gigai to look under eighteen. I don't know much about this world, but I'm familiar enough to know the laws are applied differently to persons under that age. Those fucking cheap bastards! I bet my hospitalization was probably cheaper if my body was biologically younger than an adult.

That kid keeps yelling at me, so I hit him in the face. It was actually quite amusing. He fell right onto his back and starting rocking on the ground. He clutched his nose; it was bleeding and lying on his left cheek. Opps, I hadn't meant to break it. Screams are coming from all directions now. Some girls are running into the building and the boys are gathering around. They're chanting, 'fight,' and who am I to deny them?

It wasn't until after a good ten minutes that an authority figure came to restrain me. I got thirty kids in that time. About seven of them were just bystanders, but a brawl was a brawl. The skin on my knuckles was raw and there were pieces of it missing. I had splotches of blood on my shirt. It wasn't mine.

The authority man grabbed onto my arm and so I swung my bloody fist into his stomach. He hunched over and began sucking in air. I clasped my hands together above his bowed head. I prepared to bring my joined hands down onto it, but I felt a soft touch at my waist. It was a tiny hand grabbing onto my reddened shirt. It was the ryoka girl; and it was the look in her eyes that made me stop. It was as if she was looking onto a madman.

…

I'm sitting in this guy's office. The authority man is here to. He's telling the other authority man what he saw and what I did. He wants to press charges and I feel like I'm back at court. Director, oh director, why can't we just cut this scene out?

"What school are you from?" the bigger authority man asks me.

"I don't go to school," I say. The authority man grunts. I don't think he's surprised.

"Where are your parents right now?"

"Probably rotting in the ground," I say.

"You're a sick boy," he says with this ugly look on his face. "What's your last name and home address? We're going to contact your guardians."

"I don't have any of that," I say. All this is beginning to lose my interest. I resist getting up and walking away. Although, I really should just tromp out the door and disappear. If they find me, who cares? "Look," an idea hits me. I'll let someone else deal with this. "Ichigo Kurosaki can help you out. Just call him up here and he can explain."

"What? Ichigo Kurosaki? What does he have to do with this?"

"Everything, now-" I take a moment in mid sentence to rethink things. I really don't _have_ to answer to these people; I'm a dead man after all. I'm nothing but a ghost haunting an artificial body. I'm only here because it's less strenuous on the Soul Society's pockets. They tucked me neatly away. So why should I comply with the living? "Ichigo Kurosaki is a peddler." I say, shifting the blame. "I was mistaken for him. I was defending myself and I don't go to this school. You can check your records. My name's Haru Watanabe."

If you look closely at a person, you can see their soul. Not all of it of course, but you can see their desires; their loyalty and you can even see their fears. When I looked at authority man, I saw his desires. I saw his contempt when I mentioned the name Kurosaki Ichigo. He wanted an excuse to penalize the guy and I gave it to him. He had a sated look to his eyes when I accused him of peddling. You see, if you give the bear a fish; it'll let you leave the cave.

…

That evening, I'm riding up the elevator. On a whim, I stop it on the fourth floor. I want to walk down the windowless hallway and peer into the steel doors. I owe it to my imaginary neighbor. I'm nearing the end of the hall when I see her. She's staring right at me. I was peering into all the rooms as I walked by and she'd caught me. I'll admit, I froze.

She had steel eyes; gray, cold and hard and they were fixed on me. The corner of her mouth twitched and curled into a leer. She knew. She got me and she knew. She was leaning into the door. The pale skin on her forehead was pressed against the plastic screen. She licked her teeth and grinned. I walked around the corner and her steel eyes followed me all the way.

All I could think about was her. That woman. That woman was not alive. She was dead, dead, just like me.

I lie in my large, soft hotel bed. I'm still wearing my human clothes. I'm on my back, wearing scratchy denim on my legs and I realize my shirt is still bloody. I understand the peculiar looks I was given on my way here now.

The blood has seeped through the fabric and it's like gum on my skin. I peel the dark cotton over my head and toss it onto the ground. There's old, darkened blood sponged all over my chest. I scratch it off.

I'm lying in my large, soft hotel bed with flakes of blood scattered around me. The room smells of iron and I sleep anyway.

…

That morning I wake up. I'm Captain Renji Abarai. I've defeated Captain Kuchiki. I've married Rukia and we live in Australia. After a year, we have a kid. He's a runt, but I know he'll grow bigger. I'll teach him how to use a sword and he'll grow up strong. He'll look like Rukia and he'll be very attached to her. At eighteen, he'll kill his first man and I'll teach him how to shoulder the nightmares.

Now, he'll be older and he won't look like Rukia anymore. He looks like me and he talks like me, as he tells me that he no longer has nightmares. He's a grown man and he's become like me: guiltless.

That morning I woke up. I was in room 746 on my hotel bed. My bloody shirt is still on the floor and it still reeks of iron. I'm still in last night's jeans and I have a room with a balcony. I could tell myself whatever I want, but it doesn't change a thing. I'm Lt. Renji Abarai, the grade 'A' nutcase, whose neighbor tried to escape by throwing himself off a balcony.

I'm in the elevator; seven, six; I'm wearing my only clean shirt; five; it's cotton and white; four. I stop the elevator. A little screen is blinking. It blinks four. I'm thinking of her steel eyes looking at me. Four blinks on. Four blinks off, and I keep going down the elevator to the main floor.

A young man greets me. "Mr. Abarai! How was your first night? I hope you slept well." He talks fast. "There's a message for you at the front desk. It's from the _officials_."

Soul Society.

"If you could, that is, straighten out the problem quickly, it would be most appreciated," he says.

I'm at the front desk. I receive the message. The soul society has courteously informed me that they have made a withdrawal from my account- _my account_- and are waiting to deposit it into the hospital's checking account. All they need is my personal identification number to complete the transaction.

I'm in Australia.

They also hope I'll recover quickly.

I'm going to jump off my balcony.

They also tell me I won't be permitted to return until I've completed my treatment.

I'm living on the fourth floor.

…

I don't eat lunch. Lunch costs extra. Lunch is staying in my bank account. I'm going to go for a walk so I won't have to think about lunch.

I pass by a restaurant and I see the numbers in my account dwindling. I'm heading back before I pass by another.

I'm back in my hotel bed. I'll starve to death I think, but I will not let my stomach eat my paycheck. No, lunch is for the Silver Dragonfly Glasses store. I want new gear. I want a pair of sunglasses. It's sunny in Australia. I'll need them.

The phone is ringing. If it rings six times, I'll answer. This way I'll know it's important. Eight rings and I pick it up. "Yeah?" I say.

"Mr. Abarai? A family member has come to see you."

"What?"

"Your cousin, Mr. Abarai," he says.

"Oh, really?" I don't have any cousins. "Ask him for I.D."

"Sorry?"

"Ask my cousin for I.D."

"Mr. Abarai, please. It'll be good for you to see you're family. Please, he's waiting in the lobby."

"_He's _waiting? …What'd he say his name was?" I ask.

"Byukuya Kuchiki."

How could I say no?

…

The orchestra in my head starts playing again. I hear whining sounds of strings and then I see him. He's sitting by himself in the brightly lit lobby. It takes a moment, but I'm able to register the vision of tweaked-out hair before me. Cousin's got a scowl on his face and he's head-to-toe covered in tightly adorned human clothing. Cousin Kuchiki is Ichigo Kurosaki.

I turn and begin walking out the door- a futile escape. I hear him flying up from his perch and now I'm sandwiched against the lobby's wall. He's breathing heavy. He's quite angry.

"Haru Watanabe," he says.

"Cousin Kuchiki," I say.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't come down unless it was an order from your captain." He speaks and it's like I'm suffocating.

"Ah, well."

"You," he says. "You said I was dealing drugs."

"No I didn't."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Orihime saw you."

"Wasn't me."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Well, the way the principal described you, it sure sounded like it was."

"He's delusional."

"He described you perfectly."

"Lots of people look like me," I say. I feel his blood pressure rising.

"No one looks like you!" He's screaming. "You really fucked things up for me, you know that? I had cops bring me home! They searched my goddamn fucking house! I'll never hear the end of this at school!"

"Sorry," I say. "I don't what to tell you."

"Sorry? Sorry doesn't cover it! Didn't you hear me? I said that fucking cops had to bring me home! Cops! My sisters were traumatized!"

"Ichigo," I say. He looks at me with eyes that seem as if they're about to pop out of his head. "Talking to you," I say, "feels like being caught in a revolving door."

He hit me in the face.

Right in the jaw and I'm bleeding onto my only clean shirt. His fist is coming back through the air. He's going to hit me again. The orchestra strikes up. Its notes are squeaking high and I'm running out the door.

One foot sails over the other. Go. I'm already down the street. I'm running and it feels as if I'm carrying dead weight, like I'm running in a meat sack. Twenty minutes and my lungs are taking in fire. I suck it in and it burns, so I force it out.

I start to jog. I can hear myself breathing. Honestly, I never expected him to follow and naturally he catches up. He's got this coy look on his face.

"You're out of shape," he says.

"It's the gigai."

He would have hit me, I think, if I were not already on the ground panting for breath. He crouches down to meet me. He's got his finger pointed somewhere on the horizon: The hospital, and I think, damn; I really didn't run that far. I can still see its white stucco like a fleck in the distance. "By the way," he says. "Why are you staying there?"

"Soul Society's orders."

The sun is hanging low in the sky and it creeps along his face shining pink. One side shines pink. The other is hidden in purple shadows. His hair is still bright and orange. He's like a human sunset. "So," he says. "Why are you staying there?"

My parents didn't hug me. I tried to kill third seat from thirteenth division.

"Renji?" he says.

Thirteenth division still doesn't have an official lieutenant. Not since…

Kaien Shiba.

"Renji?" he says. I forgot the question. He looks at me once more and turns away. "Forget it," he says. He stands and offers me his hand as a help up. I actually think I need it. I missed lunch. I missed dinner. I'm still out of breath. So I accept his kind gesture, but his grip is squeezing my knuckles together. I'm on my feet and trying to break away from his clasp. It's like an angry handshake because he doesn't let go.

"Knock it off," I say. It's starting to really hurt now. I feel the bones in my hand grinding against each other and first knuckle says hello to fourth knuckle.

"You're going to run away again," he says, his scowl returning. It's true, I was. "And you're not going anywhere until you explain to my family that you were lying."

I think of Ichigo's father and shake my head. "No, I don't think so," I say.

"What?" He's screaming again. "Why not?"

"Because," I say, "you broke my hand."

"Stop being so dramatic."

**  
Not much of cliff-hanger- I know! **

**Thank you for reading this far. Please read chapter two!**

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**I'd love to know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

_This fiction contains __offensive material__. Please do not read without an open mind. _

**THE DEEDS OF SAINTS**

**chapter two: Edgar wrote bad poems**

I'm standing face to face with Isshin Kurosaki and I'm thinking, 'liar'. His small, dark eyes are fierce on mine and in his mind he's saying, 'lieutenant.'

"Dad. This is the guy. He's here to apologize."

No I'm not. That was never in the job description.

"Apologize? So you're the reason I had cops searching my house last night?" he says.

I look at Isshin.

Liar.

Faker.

"Yeah," I say.

He hums in his throat. "Well, what's done is done. It was all a misunderstanding. What can you do?" And I know that what he's really asking me is, 'Why are you here? Are there other shinigami as well?'

"Just a misunderstanding," I say and what I'm really saying is, 'I'm alone. There is nothing going on.'

He nods. I start to leave, but I feel Ichigo grabbing my wrist and he says, "your hand." He won't look at me. I follow the orange beacon of hair, letting him lead me into a private room. It's part of the clinic.

He grabs a roll of gauze and I don't really trust him to wrap my hand. "Let me wrap it," I say. "You're too rough." He hands it over to me. I use my teeth since it's awkward to wrap with only one hand.

"What's going on, Renji?" he says. He still isn't looking at me.

"I told you, didn't I? Soul Society's orders."

"Yeah, but why?"

Maybe if I ignore the question, it'll go away.

"Renji?" he says.

How do I put this?

"Renji!"

"They don't trust me." The answer surprises even me, but once I give it time, it makes sense. An antisocial personality is not the most eccentric character found in the Seireitei. I would hope that Kenpachi Zaraki is more cracked than I am. No, it wasn't a matter of ability or senses. It was about trust. Loyalty.

They tucked me neatly away.

"They don't trust you?"

"It appears that way, doesn't it?"

"You're… staying here then?"

I nod.

"…Until what?"

I shrug.

"So, what exactly did you do to make them not…?"

"Hm. I got carried away." Carried away? "And there is no tolerance for overstepping _certain_ boundaries. Not since Aizen; not since Gin; not since Tousen."

"I see."

…

This is the suggestion box. A small wooden token, the divine connection between the white coats and the scum they serve.

And I think, do people read this shit?

Never mind.

The first paper card says, 'It has been brought to my attention by Macleans' Magazine (it was in the lobby) that the Amazon rainforest is being destroyed. I refuse to use toilet paper. Please supply the washrooms with those power jet toilets.'

It's signed by 'Edgar Allen Poe.'

I take another papery suggestion from the box. This one says, 'The milk served at lunch was sour.' It's anonymous.

Lunch.

Then it occurs to me.

I put the suggestions back in their wooden shrine. I start walking to the cafeteria. Lunch is served at noon. It's a little after one. I haven't eaten in two days.

I want lunch.

By the time I get there, the place is nearly cleared. There are a few stranglers harassing the staff and asking for sex. They say, "Oh, come on. You look alright baby." And they say, "Oh no. God no. Absolutely not."

There's a metal rack, deserted and forgotten, only a few paces away from me. In my reach are dozens of picked over meals. Sally Joe's half eaten sandwich and Crazy Jim's cold fries, even Fat Anna's greasy, American burger.

Lunch included: no extra cost.

Twenty minutes later, I'm throwing up in my hotel toilet. I think it was the burger that did it. Rising from my stomach are Crazy Jim's fries, still cold and salty. The poorly chewed potatoes are coated in mint ice cream and floating in my stomach mucus. I'm thinking, why the hell did I eat that?

I'm allowed a moment to breathe before soba noodles start creeping up my throat. Chunks of fatty pork are scraping my insides and the coagulated mixture is being pumped out of my mouth. I'm thinking, why the hell didn't I chew that?

Now there's mustard colored pudding with green, mint swirls in my hotel toilet. It's so thick a spoon would stand in it. I flush it away. It'll drain into the ocean and be filtered into fractions. And somewhere, some kid is drinking kool aid with mustard, mint pudding in it.

And I have a doctor's appointment in fifteen minutes with no clean shirt to wear.

My white-coated lover is peaking in my ears. He asks how I'm sleeping. I say fine. He asks how my bowel movements are. I say fine. He asks if I've felt any dizziness or nausea lately. I say no. Then he asks flatly, "How old are you?"

I throw a number out there, "seventeen," I say. Now times that by a six.

"Are you sexually active?"

"Yeah."

"Have you been engaged with a sexual partner recently?"

"No."

"When was the last time you had sexual intercourse?"

"I don't know. Maybe a month or two ago."

"Any complications arise from-"

"-No."

He nods and scratches down a few notes. He dismisses me by telling me I'm physically healthy.

And he would know. He's a doctor.

I walk out into the waiting room. Five sorry looking patients are sitting in those chrome chairs. Just waiting and waiting for new prescriptions. They wait to be called. They wait to be saved.

…

I'm searching for food. A fucking candy dish; a cookie tray, but the place is fucking clean. This hospital hasn't even got flowerpots. For serious, I would have eaten the flowers. There's not even a fucking apple tree outside. I'm walking and walking. Nothing. Just grass. I'm not going to eat the fucking grass. If I'm caught they'll move me to fourth floor.

That gets me thinking about the woman, the one with steel eyes. And now, I'm _really_ thinking about her. Her small, thin body and the pale skin stretched over it. Her blue-black hair, short and cropped. Then, there's the fact she is dead.

Ah, who cares? I bet she had great legs.

…

I didn't mean to do it. Wait. No, I meant to do it. I just didn't _plan_ it.

Earlier, I skipped group therapy. In all honesty, I didn't want to get involved in the whole therapeutic touching thing. Fuck hug time. I just trotted out the front doors in my sour clothes instead. I walked down the street with my long greasy strands braided behind my head. I smell like old sweat and blood, but I figure, fuck it.

And now I'm racing down the street on a shiny, new Duc; and I'm stealing it because I'm lost. I didn't plan this. I couldn't find my way back to that guy's place if I'd tried. This is no longer a test drive. I'm stealing his Ducati.

You can do anything if you're fearless. It's fear that makes you hesitate, makes you stop and stumble. If you don't fear falling, your mind will not think of falling and your body will act like it cannot fall.

I've never driven before, but I watched some show about it. This is the ignition. Here are the disc brakes. This is counter steering. Here is subculture. So, now I'm skidding around on the road and driving way too fast. I don't fear falling.

Ichigo is sitting with me. We're at his clinic. It's later that evening. The same day I skipped group therapy; my gigai is ridiculously torn up and my shirt is less clean than it was. I tell him I wiped out on the Duc.

He asks me, "What were you doing on a motorcycle?"

And I say, "driving it."

"No," he says. "What were you doing on it?"

"Oh, test driving it?"

"You don't even have a license."

"A what?"

"Never mind." He's wrapping my bloody arm. No broken bones, just bruises and cuts and a mild concussion. I slip my bloody, sweaty, sour shirt over my head. "Hey," he says. "Cut it out. I'm trying to bandage your arm."

"My side," I whine. "Ah, it hurts." I take a look at it. Ah, Fuck. There's a leaking, red smile splayed across my ribs. Its lips are puckered and angry. I run a finger over it. It's like touching dimpled chicken skin.

"That's a nasty gash," he says. He doesn't sound worried at all.

I let out a heavy breath. "This body wasn't made for all this excitement. I need a new one."

"Or maybe just don't steal bikes. Don't drive recklessly. Don't get into fights. Don't tell lies. Don't incriminate your best friend. Don't-"

"-Yup," I say. "I get it." God forbid he mentions lunch; or eating Crazy Jim's fries; or mustard, mint pudding.

He tells me he'll be right back, but after five minutes I get reckless. I wander alone into his kitchen. This is my fourth, fucking, foodless day. I peak into his fridge.

Food.

Rack upon rack of food.

I grab a bowl of cold rice. Start simple. I don't want to throw up this time. Someone screams and I almost drop the fucking bowl. There standing, mouth agape is a scrawny little kid. She's pointing at me and yelling. Crying for help and just yelling, 'auuggggh.'

I hear gallops and soon Ichigo skids into the room. He's yelling too, only he yells, 'get out the fridge!'

The kid stops screaming and hugs her brother's bony leg. "Brother," she says with snot dripping down her nose. "Who is he? He has tattoos and red hair."

"That," he says, "that is Renji."

I give a slight wave and spoon rice into my mouth with my wrapped hand.

"Ichigo," she whines, "why's he have no shirt on? And why's he covered in bandages?"

"He fell off his motor bike and wasn't wearing a helmet," he says and then asks, "Can you give us a moment, Yuzu?"

And the kid scampers off.

"What are you doing?" he asks me. I can tell he's a little more than annoyed.

"Oh, come on Ichigo!" I'm so hungry. Yesterday, I almost ate grass.

"Don't gimme that! Your getting to be a real pain, you know that?"

I keep eating the rice. I'm thinking about the money I'm saving. Free rice.

"You smell disgusting by the way."

Free rice.

"Seriously dude."

Rice.

"Honestly, when the last time you washed?"

I shrug.

"You're disgusting."

…

"That water is fucking cold!" I yell.

"Hey! Shut up! Don't swear!" Ichigo has the shower handle in his hand and he adjusts the temperature. I'm sitting in his family's bathtub, both shoulders draped over one side and staring at a plate of grilled fish. I pinch a piece of the flaky meat off the fish and put it into my mouth. "Use a fork!" he yells, spraying my back with warm water.

I pick up the fork. I stab the fish right through, so the whole thing sticks to the fork and I eat the fish like a pogo.

"You're unbelievable," he says. "Unbelievably disgusting." He squirts some soap into my hair and starts scrubbing. I rest my chin against the tub's edge. The soap smells like cinnamon and I feel hungry again. I finger the fish bones on the plate. He's muttering again and I start chewing on the fish bones. "Don't eat the bones!" he yells. He rinses my hair with the showerhead.

He gets up and walks over to the sink. I'm wet and cold. I think it's around eight p.m. He comes back and kneels in front of me. Using his finger to wriggle my mouth open, he puts a plastic toothbrush in my mouth and says, "brush." I taste mint in my mouth and start scratching my teeth with the toothbrush. "Here's a towel. Just do your thing… I'll wait outside."

I spit the toothpaste out and towel-dry my hair. I don't have any clothes, so I wrap the damp towel around my waist and look for Ichigo. He's in his room. His eyes bug out of his head when he sees me. "You didn't just walk around naked in my house did you?" he asks, sounding horrified.

"I don't have any clothes."

He digs in his drawers, digging as if he's searching for money, as if I was a loan shark. He comes up and tosses a gray shirt and a pair of sweatpants at me. Elastic waistband. Nice touch.

The pants fit around, but hit me only to mid calf, so I roll the ends to my knees. And the shirt, I couldn't get it past my shoulders. So when I return, Ichigo's eyes are still bugging and he's saying, "Fine. Whatever. You wanna walk around half naked? Go ahead."

I sit against the wall. Being here is nice. It's not the seventh floor. It's not a place where I'm being scrutinized and its got free food. I can unwind. I can slouch and when I look at Ichigo, I don't see a white coat. He doesn't prod, or ask me about my bowels and he doesn't ask if I've swallowed down this morning chemicals. He doesn't hug me. So I feel like I can talk to him, tell him that there's nothing I could open up to him about; that I can't feel shit anymore; that I've got nothing to give anyone anymore.

"Shouldn't you be heading back?" he says.

I think about room 746, the hotel bed and toilet; the balcony and I remember the nasty iron smell. "No," I say.

"Whatever," and he continues to read. Schoolwork, I'm guessing.

"This morning," I say. "I saw this young chick wheeling around some old lady. And as I'm walking by them, the old lady reaches out and grabs me. She starts yammering, says I look familiar. Asks if we know each other. And the chick, she's giving me this look like she's sorry. Like she's heard it all before, you know? And so I swat the old lady's hand away and I say, 'you're a fucking wrinkled old lunatic'. And I walk off."

"Wow," he says flatly. "You're an asshole." He turns back to his book.

"Do you know there's therapy for that?"

"For what?"

"Being an asshole," I say.

And he says, "whatever Renji."

"No, really. You take pills for it and everything."

"Alright."

"Really." I'm taking them. They're pink. He closes his book together. "Done?"

"Yeah," he says.

"What are you going to do now?"

He shrugs. "It's late. Maybe sleep."

"We could go to a bar," I say.

"What?"

"A bar. I could take you. We could get laid." The white coat asks me when did I last have sex, and I say ten minutes ago. "But I can't go like this. I need a shirt."

"We can't go to a bar."

"Why not?"

"I'm not nineteen."

"I could sneak you in."

"I have school tomorrow. We can't go."

"Tomorrow," I say. It'll be Friday.

His shoulders sag. "Okay," he says.

I win.

I slept on Ichigo's floor that night. He threw me a pillow.

I got up so early that morning; it was still fucking dark out. I've got chicken and rice stuffed in my pockets. Free food. And I'm walking down the street. I'm worried I just turned my best friend into my therapist. Last night I told him, "all the odds are against you, really, and you've got no chance. Life's gonna kill you, so you've got to be willing to die to survive." And I kept talking, I said, "And this thing, this grand prize that we're all living for- this fucking promise, this fucking wonderful Arcanum, it wants to kill you too. We'd all be just better off born dead."

I'm walking down the street. I remember his shadowy expression. Last night he responded, "That's pessimistic." And that's it. That's all he says and he's out the rest of night.

I'm half way back to the hospital. I'm wondering, what the fuck is so bad about living? It's not living that's the problem. It's the people. It's authority man. It's the white coats. It's the old farts. It's the pills I take every morning.

I've been cheated. I see billboards that tell me status and money well fulfill me. I taste sake and it's supposed to fulfill me. I become lieutenant and it's supposed to fulfill me. I'm not fulfilled although everybody's trying to sell me fucking happiness. They give me pills and a balcony and that's happiness. Fuck hug time. I'll keep my misery.

Be at your lowest low. Just rot. Have people look down at you, but give them a face to remember. Give them your ugliest face. And forget about your friends; they hate you. Forget about your feelings; they're just a ruse. A scam. They can change depending on what you've eaten. Pills included: No extra cost.

In a few steps, I meet up with another at their lowest low. I stop walking. I look at him and I have this sort of epiphany. He's nosing around in the garbage, huffing and snorting and searching for food. He's all mud, this big, ugly, black dog that I'm staring at. And I think, this is enlightenment. This is it.

You want to know how much people fucking care about each other? Well, have a look. I've seen people in worse shape than this pathetic dog. That's how well we love. This dog, this dead thin dog, he's just looking for food and sniffing around because nobody loves him. So never mind each other. We can't even love a dog.

I grab a leg of chicken from my pocket and offer it to the black bastard. He trots over, tail wagging and eyes wide. He sniffs my hand once to be certain this isn't a trick and then he swallows the chicken. The whole fucking thing except the bone I'm wrestling away from his mouth.

He looks back up at me with these dark eyes and as I'm walking away I hear his steps behind me. He's stepping, following. I'm stepping, leading and I turn to look at him. He loves me already; this unlovable dog and I say to him, "You're better off on the street than with me." And the dog just pants and keeps following. It's too late. He smells chicken and now he loves me.

…

The sun is so bright this afternoon. It's shining right into my eyes, through a window in this white coat's office. He says he's growing concerned, as if he's a garden and I'm causing weeds. He says I never have phone calls or visits. I come back to the hospital late at night and bruised up. He wants to know what's going on.

I tell him nothing is going on and I just prefer to see people outside the hospital.

He asks me what I do while I'm out. Who do I see?

I tell him my cousin. He remembers the one, right?

And he nods and asks what about group therapy?

Well, what about it?

He wants to know why I don't go.

I'm antisocial. It's my disorder. My personality.

He doesn't buy it, but lets me be on my way.

Outside, the black bastard is shitting in the hospital's flowerbeds. I can see him from the balcony. I should probably pet him or something. Somehow, this dog manages to make me feel responsible for it.

Before heading outside, I steal a plate from the lunch's leftover rack. I'm walking down the exit with a dirty plate in my hand and no one says a word. This is appropriate behavior for a nutcase.

The black bastard tromps over when he sees me. He sniffs at my legs and I put the plate on the ground.

"So he's your dog?" The voice is behind me, female, definitely female. She's the woman with the steel eyes, the thin body and the blue-black hair. You know, the dead one?

She has her arms crossed. I can tell that she's the kind of person who doesn't even need to ask questions- She knows all the answers. Right now, she's looking right at my soul. She's seeing my desires, my loyalties, and my fears. She sees it all and she asks me anyway, "Has he got a name?"

"The black bastard," I say.

"Ah. Well, I'm Soi Fon," she says.

"Renji Abarai."

"Really?" Somehow she looks intrigued. "You're an assistant captain. I'm impressed." And unlike her, I cannot gauge any answers for myself. I really have to ask questions.

She tells me, while she eats her dinner in the cafeteria, that she faked defection fifty years ago. Someone very dear to her had abandoned her and left for the human world with this criminal captain. She wanted to get into the human world without wrecking her ties entirely to the Seireitei. This, she figured, was the ideal way. I would disagree, but to each their own.

I ask her, Why the fourth floor?

The fourth floor is for addicts.

And?

She was an addict.

I thought she was looking for her absconded friend?

She was, but she was also an addict.

Oh, really? What are you addicted to? -This is the kind of conversations held in a nuthouse and she says, sex.

This how I became aquatinted with Soi Fon.

…

That night, Ichigo's pacing in his room and throwing things around. "I wasn't serious!" he says.

"Yeah, you were. You're just backing out now." I say. I'm holding onto Soi Fon. Her skinny wrist is cold in my hand. She has permission to visit overnight with family. We're going to a bar instead.

I find my old jeans on Ichigo's floor, washed and folded with the white cotton shirt. I point. "I'm going to change into those," I say.

"Go ahead," he says. I leave him and Soi Fon alone and quickly change in the next room. I would have changed there, but Ichigo protested. When I come back, he says, "Those clothes are full of holes."

And they are, with huge gaping holes over my knee and shoulder. Thin threads are popping out everywhere and Soi Fon says, "I didn't know your whole body was covered in tattoos."

Ichigo looks. He says, "Renji, those clothes are a bit revealing."

"Your clothes don't fit me though," I say.

And Soi Fon says, "They're fine. Looks like you fell off something real high though."

"He crashed a bike."

"Nice."

The sun has already disappeared and we're walking through a parking lot. Ichigo asks me, "What are you doing?" He says it in a low whisper as I begin lifting the handles of random cars.

"You don't want to walk there, do you?" I say. Soi Fon is quiet and relaxed. My hand slips under a dark handle, I lift and the door pops open.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he says. Now his voice is harsh and quiet. I flit into the driver's seat and unlock the other doors. Soi Fon hops in. She stretches her thin body over the back seat. I reach over and open the passenger door.

"Get in," I say. He waits for about a minute then sits and shuts the door. "That a boy." I'm bent over and feeling the plastic under the wheel. I find a notch and slam my fist against it. To hot wire a car, you have to break it first. I pull the plastic away with my fingers and fiddle with the wires. Since I arrived in the human world, I've been watching much too much television.

"Renji!" he whispers. "Renji!" I touch two wires together and the car huffs. "Renji!" The engine sputters down. I strike the wires together again and this time it starts.

"Alright," I say.

"Renji! Fuck! Renji you just stole a car!" He says this, holding his hands to his head as I pull out of the lot.

"Yeah, so?"

"Fuck! You can't just steal cars!"

"It's only for the night."

He grabs onto the wheel. "No! Pull over!"

I wrestle him off. "It's too late now. Just relax.

"I can't fucking believe this," he says before he hollers out the window. His fist is pumping up and down and he's got the widest grin on his face. His whooping still stings my ears.

Soi Fon's head bobs between the two front seats. She grins. "Alright," she says and flicks on the radio. An orchestra fills up the car. This time it's not just in my head. "This guy's got class," she says, snapping through stations. "But it ruins the mood." She turns the knob until a screaming voice becomes clear over distorted guitars. "That's better, don't you think?" Ichigo yells out the window again.

"Geez, Ichigo. It's like you never unleashed before," I say.

He's leans back in the car, panting. "Unleashed?"

"You know," Soi Fon says. "Like, just do something crazy."

"You're really a whole different person in the human world, aren't ya?" I say.

"Hardly like the ryoka I've heard so much about," Soi Fon says. Ichigo stares at me.

"Meet Soi Fon. Also a shinigami."

"Nice ta meetcha," he says, turning himself back out the window. I crank the music. You're never too old for this shit.


	3. Chapter 3

_This fiction contains __offensive material__. Please do not read without an open mind. _

**THE DEEDS OF SAINTS**

**chapter three: i'm not my body **

Bodies are packed against one another on the floor. Their heads move hypnotically with the bass line. I get the feeling that the room is twisting around us. The music is loud and echoes in my ears. My body fills with it. It's notes mix in my stomach with the alcohol. I've got my arms in the air and a beer swirling around in my hand. I doubt I'm walking straight, but I want to dance. God, I just wanna dance.

Soi Fon is swimming against me. I feel her moving between my legs, her hands moving in circles, squares, pentagons and just all fucking shapes. She leans her front onto me, her chin resting on my chest and says, "We should get out of here."

"Oh yeah," I say. This is when Ichigo pushes his way through the compacted mass of sweating bodies. He grabs a hold of me and leans too far to his left.

He says, "Renji!" He's slurring. "Red Renji." And he falls onto the ground.

Ichigo and I are waiting outside a convenience store. He's on his hands and knees vomiting in the small lot. And I say, "easy, easy," as he fights with the bile in this throat. Soi Fon comes out from the store with a loaf of bread and an extra large coffee.

We're walking because I'm too drunk to drive. Ichigo nibbles on some bread. He's probably worried he'll get sick again. "It's just to sober you up some," I say, drinking the coffee. "Guess we can't bring you home."

"No!" he blurts out. "Not home. Can't go there. There's someone I gotta see first." He laughs. "Got-ta-see. Come on! Follow! Mush!"

"Keep it down," I say. Soi Fon curls her arm around my waist, so I offer her some coffee.

"Here! Yes, this is where I wanna go. See? This house. I want to see!" he shouts.

"Alright, alright. Just calm down, ya fucking light weight." I say. He knocks at the house. Light footsteps rumble behind the door. We're all looking into the small peephole. The door flies open and we're greeted by a pleasant, girlish smile.

"Kurosaki!" Orihime says. "Renji? And…?"

"Soi Fon," she answers.

"Oh," Orihime says. "Um, come in."

It's warm inside the house. "Can we crash here tonight?" I ask.

"Oh, sure. Just please don't break anything," she says shyly.

"Orihime," he says. "I gotta tell you something." He's a tad more articulate now. "But not in front of these guys. That alright?"

"Oh," Orihime says. She pauses. "Yes- yes, of course!"

"Just watch he doesn't trip up the stairs, eh Orihime? He's a little tipsy," I say, calling after their retreating forms. Once their gone, I feel an arm about my neck, tugging me closer.

"I've been just dying to see more of you," Soi Fon says. "Ever since I first saw you." She's lying on her back, hands above her head. Her legs rub against each other as her feet dig into the couch. I crawl on top of her, the cushions dipping under our combined weight, but mostly mine. Her tiny hand creeps into a fraying slice in my shirt. "You're quite the fit one, aren't you?" she says as her hand rolls over my stomach.

"Yeah," I say bringing my mouth onto her neck. Her body presses against mine. Her slim legs are wrapped around my waist. She hums against my neck.

"You have anything?" she breathes. I pull away and look at her. "Protection?"

"No."

Her fist nails me in my right shoulder and she throws me off of her. I smashed into the coffee table. "Then forget it," she says. I stand up. My body doesn't feel a fucking thing. I'm still too drunk, but the bruises well be there tomorrow.

Soi Fon slid her hand into her tight pants, creating a bulge at her crotch. "You can watch if you want," she tells me.

"Fucking addicts," I say. I make my way up the stairs. I fell twice, adding to my morning bruise count. I've seriously got to use the bathroom, but I've got no fucking clue what door it's behind. I open the nearest to my right, a closet. Fuck. I keep walking down the hall. The next door, I swing it open. It ain't the bathroom. It's Ichigo and Orihime, half undressed and humping. She notices me first and screams. I feel my eyebrows rise into my forehead and my mouth tighten into a frown. Actually, Orihime's pretty hot.

Ichigo looks up at me, his hands jumping off her breasts. He opens his swollen mouth and I say, "Lock the door next time, ya moron." And I shut the door and keep looking for the bathroom.

…

I wake up on the floor, in front of Soi Fon's couch. The couch she defiled. It's hers now. Secretly.

My cheek is pressed up against the damp rug. My body is stiff, my joints aching but hey, at least I still got my pants on. I have no idea where my shirt is though. Soi Fon is still lying on the couch, her eyes half open. She runs her scrawny, little hand in my hair and calls my name.

"Yeah?" I say.

"You get sick?" she asks.

"No," I say.

"Me neither."

"Hey… this friend of yours, the one who defected, why are you trying so hard to find them?"

She sighs. "I want to kill her." I'm all interested now.

"Really? Why's that?"

"Because," she says, "I loved her." Her hand curls around my neck. "And she betrayed me."

"For the criminal captain?"

She doesn't answer. About this time, Orihime walks in. She looks surprised to find us. She flushes up to her hairline when her eyes meet mine. "Have a good time last night?" I say. Her eyes are brimming, glossy and juicy. "How'd ya like it, eh? Bouncing on that fat, hot slider of his? He ruin you for any other man?" She squeaks and runs out the front door. I can hear her footsteps fading along with her sobs.

"Wow," Soi Fon says. "You're an asshole." I know that already. I take pills for it. Her mouth stretches into a yawn and she hops off her couch. "I'll go remind her of that," she says.

"You don't even know her," I say.

"We're both girls."

"So?"

"We relate to each other. I don't have to know her to understand her. All women are sisters. That's just the way it is."

"Whatever."

"I'll be back with the girl in an hour. Don't still be here with Kurosaki."

"Got it babe."

She disappears out the door and I start peeking in rooms for Ichigo. I find him in the same room upstairs, passed out on the bed. I poke him between his shoulders and he rouses.

"Ah, Renji?" he says.

"Yup," I say. "Renji."

"Fuck. What happened last night?" I look around the room; then kick Ichigo's discarded jeans at him. I point to his bare ass from the doorway and he yells, "Fuck!"

His head is hung low, his nape outstretched and bare against the chill. His hands are tucked snugly in his pockets as we walk toward his house- the black bastard in pursuit.

"Why'd you have to befriend such an ugly dog?" he says bitterly. I look back at the black bastard. He had a gaunt look in his face and his ribs popped out through shaggy patches of sticky fur. His lumpy and unnaturally arched spine would probably reach my mid thigh.

"He's not so bad," I say.

"Looks like a friggin monster."

"Eh," I wave a dismissive hand.

"Renji?"

"Hm?"

"We're friends right?"

"Course."

"So," he says. "You'd tell me if I did something real stupid, right?"

"Don't need to be friends to do that."

"Alright, so, um, last night, do you remember what happened? I mean, you know… with me and…?" He's flushed and looking away. I _could_ break this to him gently.

"You totally fucked Orihime, dude."

"What?!"

"…You really don't remember?"

"No."

"Too bad. That'd be something I'd want to remember, you know, if it were me."

"This can't be happening."

"Well," I say, "was there come on the bed?"

"What?"

"You know, spunk."

"I know! But- I don't know. Why?"

"Well, it's not like I got a good look at you two or anything. I accidentally walked in- sorry bout that by the way, but I dunno, maybe you two just _looked_ like you were doing it."

"So you don't even know then?"

"How would I? Not like I was gawking."

"But were we… naked?"

"_You_ were."

"…Fuck!"

"Hey," I say. "So since we're _friends_…"

"What?! What could you possibly want?!"

"Buy me breakfast?" I walk behind Ichigo and the black bastard walks behind me. "I'm hungry," I say.

…

"You didn't have to buy me the cheapest breakfast available," I say as we sit in McDonald's.

"It's a good deal, full of fat and calories too. So really, it's like your eating half your total calorie intake in only a few bites," he says.

"I don't think it works like that, Ichigo." I bite the deep-fried sandwich. "You didn't even get us anything to drink."

"Don't complain."

I scan the area, searching the tabletops. On the table next to us, just out of arm's reach, is sitting garbage waiting to be cleaned. I get up and pick through it. I find a soggy cup and shake it. Empty, mostly.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he says from behind me. I go over to the refill machine and dump the melting ice into its drain. Popping the lid off, I fill the cup to the brim with red juice. I grab a fresh straw and sit back down across from Ichigo. "You're disgusting," he says.

"I think I saw a half eaten burger on the table behind you," I say. "Can you grab it?" I shake the brown paper bag. "Put it in here." Ichigo leans over the side the bench and grabs the half-burger by the paper wrapping. He drops the greasy bun into the bag.

"Just don't eat it in front of me, okay?" he says.

"I'm not gonna eat it. It's for the black bastard."

"The who?"

"My dog."

"Oh, the monster? I figured it would eat babies."

…

Nothing will ever fall neatly into place- ever. This is a rule of the universe. You see, nothing is given to you entirely for free. It's like this: Everything is free, but with a catch. It's like a bad advertisement. It's the same as "buy a laptop and get a free mp3 player". Only there's a small star at the end of the statement and below is the fine text, which says 'with the purchase of this certain laptop and this certain mp3, you can qualify for a $299 rebate'. You have to buy them both to get the rebate. So I'm wondering, which one is really free? Sign up with this bank and get a free toaster and the fine print says, "with a deposit of $3 000 or greater."

This applies to everything. Your parents give you a body, mom delivers you into the world and it seems free, but now you have to take care of the body; just like the puppy you asked for.

You never realize how much of a pain in the ass it is; and it's this way in relationship too- especially in relationships, because everyone wants something for nothing. Everyone wants to be loved.

"That is not coming in my house," Ichigo says, pointing at the black bastard.

"It's just a dog," I say.

"That is not _just_ a dog."

"Alright, alright! He'll stay outside."

It's early in the afternoon and Ichigo's house is empty and completely silent. "I'm going to shower," he says. He directs me into the den. "You watch television and stay out of the fridge." He disappears up the stairs. I feel like all I do is watch t.v.

I didn't even notice when Ichigo came back into the den. The blinking lights of the tube had memorized me. A million pictures were flashing into my eyes, and all of its power was at my fingertips. I am the God of this television set.

"Renji!"

I see a cowboy.

"Renji!"

Now it's some hot chick with a shampoo bottle.

"Fuck! Renji!"

Hm. It's supposed to rain today.

"Renji!"

Is someone calling me? "Ichigo?" I look away from the screen. He's a little red in the face. His hair is towel dried and his clothes smell fresh. Oh, yeah and he's straddling me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! I was standing there and calling you for like a fucking hour!"

He's straddling me.

"Renji!" he yells.

"You're straddling me."

"I'm not straddling you! You dumb ass!"

He is, though. I shake my knees and he rolls off my lap. "Watch television," I say.

"Oh, fuck no. No more t.v. for you. You get too friggin weird." He pries the remote from my fingers and the screen goes black. No more cowboys. We're sitting on the couch. We sit for about five minutes. The place is still dead silent. I guess we're the only ones here. Ichigo starts to squirm beside me. His knee and elbow nudge me as he fidgets.

"What?" I say. "You want attention or something?"

"What?"

"Stop pokin' me."

"I'm not!"

We're silent again. A thought scuffles around in my mind. Of course, I'm not the kind of guy who can gauge answers for himself. I have to ask. So I ask, "You really like Orihime or something?"

He frowns. "Honestly, I don't know."

It bothers me. Fuck, it really bothers me. Him with her, and I don't know why. I guess you could call Ichigo a best friend. Maybe I'm jealous? I've never been good at this whole 'looking within one's self' shit. Hell, there has never been much to look at. I get this feeling in my gut and it's like I'm afraid. By the time my mind catches up with my body, I'm already crawling on top of Ichigo. He's looking at me with crunched brows, wide eyes and a crooked grin. It's a pretty messed up expression and I got no clue what he's thinking until he says, "Are you gay?"

And I say, "no." It's true, I'm not. I've never looked twice at a guy. So then why am I on top of him?

"You must just really like me then," he says, staring at me. His warm hands come around my body, curling around my neck and waist. My blood beats harder.

"I'm going to blow your fucking mind," I say, moving my mouth onto his neck. "That girl's got nothing on me." I'm going to rip him away from her arms. I don't care for people. I do what I want, and fuck everyone else. But, there's this part of me that's stuck and I know that I'm attached to this boy. It's fucking messed up, but it's true. It's all I'm holding onto. Fuck Orihime. Fuck that stupid girl. This is mine.

I tug his shirt off. He calls my name on his huffing breaths. His body leaps under my touch as I drag my hands down to his hips. He's straining under his jeans. As I unbutton him I ask him, "How do you like it?" He hums in his throat. I reach into his open pants and grab onto him. "If you aren't gonna say, then I'm just gonna do whatever I want." He makes fists in my clothing, grabbing and pulling. He writhes under me.

I reach into my back pocket. I have lube. Soi Fon gave it to me last night when she planned on screwing me. Things didn't go as planned and I ended up forgetting I had it. I take the thin bottle and spread the jell between my two fingers. He doesn't even notice. I slide my hand around him. A dude's g-spot is in his ass. I also learnt this from Soi Fon. These are the advantages of having a sex addict as your friend.

I squeeze a finger into his ass. His head tilts back and he opens his mouth wide. I can't resist. I shove my tongue into his mouth. Our lips meet roughly. I pull my finger back a ways before pushing it in further. His brows press together at my intrusion. I rub my coated finger on his hot walls, with a subtle bend of my index he yells, "holy fuck! What was that?"

I grin at him. "Your prostate." His chest rises and falls quickly. The sound of his short, rapid breaths can probably be heard from the next room. Looking down, I notice he's quite erect. I grip onto his dog and give it a small squeeze. He lets loose a kind of whiny noise, as take him into my mouth.

I'm not thinking. I'm just doing. I suck on him hard, up and down. I'm just a machine performing. His ass clenches around my fingers and his hips are shaking, resisting the urge to thrust back into my throat. I lift my mouth off him. "You can," I say, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. "Just don't choke me." He nods and I position my mouth over his swelling, purple dog. His muscles flex and his hips jerk up and hit me in the mouth; the tip of his dog brushes against the back of my throat. My jaw is open as wide as possible trying to accommodate.

He grabs onto my head, his fingers twining in my hair. I hear him groaning, whispering my name. I think my nose is leaking. He starts thrusting quicker into my mouth. He hits the back of throat each time. He gives me a word of warning before he reaches his climax and shoots his load. I try to swallow it, but there's so fucking much of it. I pull my fingers out of his ass.

I felt his spunk leaking between my lips. Some of it trails down the corner of my mouth and I wipe it off my chin. I watch as Ichigo breathes deeply through his nose. He looks at me and I can only imagine what I must look like. My hair is tousled from his fists; my nose is definitely leaking; there's semen leaking out of my mouth and I feel a sheen of oil on my skin. I take quick, shallow breaths through my almost parted mouth.

He sits up. His face is only a few inches away. "You're so fucking hot," he says. He brings his lips onto mine and presses hard. I kiss him back. It's like an automated response for me. Open mouth. Insert tongue. Move it around. His head moves lower and he bites into my neck. I cry out. Gasping. I actually really enjoyed that. Ichigo muses at my response. He looks completely satisfied. He's mine now.

"I have to see a therapist at two," I say. That's in ten minutes.

"I'm late for cram school," he says.

"We should go," I say.

"Yeah," he says. "Wait." He presses his lips together. "Why're you in therapy?"

"I have bad bones."

"Oh, really?" He doesn't believe me. His nails dig into my arms. It makes my lungs crave air. A sick desire stirs in me and I hate myself. "Why're you in therapy?" he asks again, his voice a low whisper in my ear. He bites down onto my shoulder, delicious and hot. Pain is an incredible thing.

I hear myself moaning, growling. I know he's smiling. His question rolls around in my head. His teeth sink further into my skin, bruising me. I'm at his mercy.

"I'm a bad person," I say. His nails drag up my arms. His mouth slides to my collarbone, his teeth scraping my skin. "I'm real bad."

"I believe it," he whispers. He pushes me onto my back, his hands pinning me, nails clawing me. My skin welts under his grazes and my balls ache. "Is this what you go to therapy for?"

"No. I go there to be good."

"Why doesn't Soul Society trust you?"

I have no more will left. "Because I tried to kill thirteenth company's stand-in lieutenant." Ichigo hops off me. He puts distance between us.

"What?" he says. I have no defense; I have no reason or want to defend myself. My body is limp on the couch. A small part of me cares what he's thinking, but it's drowned out by the cold. I'm a man full of dark roads, completely swamped in my own callous nature. There is nothing that I'm afraid to lose. I've been alive too long, eaten away by this numbing and stretched out consciousness. Devoid of my compassion and sympathy, I'm not empty or dead. I'm just indifferent.

Ichigo looks at me with those big, brown eyes. He's young and full of passion. He says, "Why?"

"For ennui," I say. "And to hurt." He looks away, afraid to understand, but understanding anyway.

"Just a whim?" he says. I nod.

"Just like everything else."

"And me?"

"Like everything else," I say.

…

Orihime and Son Fon are clasping hands in the hospital's gardens.

Son Fon's voice sings over to me, "Renji," she sings.

"Son Fon," I say. I'm looking around for the black bastard. I stole some bread for him. These two come at me with their conjoined hands. And I'm thinking, fucking chicks and their sisterhood.

"We want to talk to you," Soi Fon sings. "It's about Kurosaki. Privately, please!"

Fucking sisterhood.

I drop the bread into the flowers and follow the two inside, to a private visiting room. Their hands are still stuck together. They sit across from me and I feel like I'm going to be eaten alive.

"First, you'll apologize," Soi Fon says.

"I'm sorry." Simple. Done. Next.

She leans in, her small face curious under her choppy blue-black hair. Her thin lips pucker. She asks, "Have you talked to Kurosaki about _you know_?"

No lies. "I have."

"And?"

"He doesn't remember anything about last night and as for his feeling about her," I point at the quiet Orihime, "he honestly doesn't know."

"So you don't know what happened?" Soi Fon asks. I know she does it to taunt me. She knows all the answers. She holds all the cards- always.

"No," I say. "But you're going to drag me into it, aren't you?"

"Well," she says. An untraceable smile falters at her lips. "You're concerned about your best friend aren't you?" At this moment, I know I'm being recruited to perform the dirty work. Why don't women ever want to get their hands dirty? "Here's the full story. Ichigo and Orihime go up to her room to talk."

Yeah, because that's why you go up into a girl's room, to talk.

Soi Fon keeps going, she says, "Orihime knew Ichigo was a bit drunk." Understatement. "They don't talk for long because Ichigo forces himself on her. You walked in when things were heaviest. About a minute later, after you left them, Ichigo passes out."

I look at Orihime. "If you were being raped, why didn't you scream for help?" She turns her dark eyes away.

Soi Fon interrupts, "She was scared. So scared she couldn't even protest."

"Well, if she didn't say 'no' then it just sounds like she was asking for it," I say.

"Don't be such an asshole!" Soi Fon says. I shrug.

"So what do you want from me?"

"Just to be the go-betweener," she says. "Tell Ichigo what he did to Orihime. That he almost raped her. We're girls, so we're too shy. Plus, who knows how he'll react. He's stronger than us so we're not safe."

I frown. "It's not my business."

"Oh, Renji. Please?" Soi Fon sings.

"…I just gotta talk to him, right?" I say.

"Just talk. We'd be so grateful." I think she's lying through her teeth, but I have no idea what she's planning. It doesn't seem that important anyway, just chick stuff. "Oh, and of course," she smiles. "You have to tell us everything he said."

This is how I end up back at Ichigo's house much earlier than I intended. I didn't think he'd want to see me, not after yesterday's conversation, but it looks like he would anyway- or not, since he wasn't home. It was after four on Sunday and it looked like I'd have to search around for his spirit essence.

I'm grateful that I can't find him. For serious, how am I suppose to tell a guy that the chick he started moving on, while he was piss drunk and who didn't even make a noise of protest, is now claiming that he almost raped her?

Fucking sisterhood.

Was I missing something? Did this only seem ridiculous to me because I'm a guy? Am I being insensitive? Well, fuck, I am insensitive. So fuck it. Fuck Orihime.

I'm hanging around outside this evening, to make it at least _seem_ like I'm carrying out the sisterhood's orders. For real though, I'm just sitting under a black fire escape. There's a rusty dumpster to my left, garbage bags to my right and steady rain above me. It drums onto the fire escape and drips neatly around me. I am the black bastard, sitting in garbage, hungry and unloved. I've got no sense of the future. I'm just like the stray dog. So much so that it scares me a little and I realize something. There are no happy endings. Not really, not in that fairy tale or romantic Hollywood sense.

Nothing just falls onto your plate; no one just loves you, or waits for you. We're all moving, oblivious and self-conscious. So if you want a happy ending, you've got to stalk it. You've got to snag it and stop it from moving. Otherwise, it'll just pass right by you. Maybe it'll look back, but it won't stop. It'll just bustle away into the moving bodies. You've got to chase what you want. You never just get it. Nothing is ever fucking easy.

And this why, that raining evening, I stood up and walked into the rain.

**This was my favourite chapter! **

**Anyway, please reveiw! I'd love to know what you're thinking! Good or bad! **

**Please stick around for the conclusion! **

**Chapter four is the final chapter! I'll post it very soon! **

**(If I haven't already!) **


	4. Chapter 4

_This fiction contains __offensive material__. Please do not read without an open mind. _

**THE DEEDS OF SAINTS**

**final chap: ****non omnia moriar**_** (not all of me will die)**_

I'm in Ichigo's doorway, soaked and dripping. The house is empty. Silent. Cold. Well, so much for that. I hear a thump upstairs. I enter and shut the door behind me. I yell his name and it echoes around the house. Anyone? Silence. Huh.

Something feels off and actually, something _is_ moving around upstairs. A sick feeling settles in my stomach. Or maybe it's indigestion; or dire hunger, but either way it's disturbing. I call out his name again.

I can hear laughter, not a child's but a man's. I call out for him again. I tell him I'm coming up the stairs; but really I want to run out the door. I see him in the hallway. His skinny figure is doubled over and clawing at his face. It's then that I know something is wrong. It'd be hard not to know. I mean, come on, look at him.

His spine pops a bit as his neck twists to my direction. His shoulder blades are trembling, shaking with laughter. He hisses at me- _at me_. Who hisses?

"Dude," I say. "You're fucking creeping me out." His body convulses. "Look, if you keep this up, I'm just gonna leave." The bones in his fingers twitch and he faces me. That's not Ichigo, but it is. I feel my mouth frown tightly.

His eyes look as if they've been spooned out, just like dark holes with two sunny irises. "Ah, Fuck," I hear myself say. He staggers toward me like a zombie. "Shit!" All I can do is curse.

Ichigo's got this skeleton mask hovering on his skin, a hollow's mask. I should have stayed under the fire escape. I should have slept with the garbage. Fuck chasing after happy endings. Everything is fucking out to get you, even happy endings.

I turn to go back down the stairs, just walk out calmly. Let Soul Society deal with this. I'm bound to a gigai with only a fraction left of my spiritual power. I couldn't even take down an ordinary hollow. Never mind this circus shit. I'm a recovering psychopath. I need to get back to the hospital and take my pills.

"Heyyy Red," the voice sings out to me. It's Ichigo's, but not. "You're IIIchigo's buddyyy, eh?"

I look at the ceiling. "No," I say. He roars out laughing, gripping his face. His eye peeks out between his fingers.

"III've been waittting so long to commme out," he shrills. "Won't yyyou play with me?"

"Another time, mayhap?" I say. I'm in serious shit- serious, serious shit. He lunges at me. All I can do is step out of the stairway so I'm not thrown down. He catches me. His hands grip onto my shoulders.

"Reeed," he says.

"Huh, sorry but, who're you again?" I wince against his hold.

"Who knows," he laughs.

I get desperate. "Ichigo! Ichigo! Come on! Snap out of it!" I'm practically begging, but I can't help it. This is fucked. I want to get out, but I can't. He laughs. He has this hunger in his eyes. I'm going to die… again.

"IIIchigo! IIIchigo!" he sings. "Well if you want me to be Ichigo, III can playyy along!" He grabs a fist full of my shirt and tears it from my chest. I bump up against the wall. He grabs my throat and kisses me.

I put my palms onto his chest and forehead and try to push him off. This is so fucked. I feel his teeth clamp around my bottom lip, and a coppery taste fills my mouth. He pulls away laughing as blood drips down my chin. I tell him to go fuck himself and he laughs harder.

His hand wraps around my nape and he throws me to the floor. Before I can get up he stabs me in the shoulder. I can't even imagine with what. I hear myself screaming. I'm writhing on the ground, trying clutch at my bleeding back. "Calmmm down, Red," he says. I feel a slicing in my side, my skin rips apart and more of my blood spills onto the carpet. I'm screaming, yelling, cussing. I don't even know what I'm shouting. I see everything in a dark haze as pain washes over me. Everything feels so much more acute in a gigai.

Then he's on top of me. His stomach pressed against my back. I feel him licking me, his hot tongue dragging across my neck. He pins my bleeding body down. He feels heavy. I can't get him off me, but I keep trying.

"Fuck you! Fuck! Get off me! Fuck you! You fucking rapist!" I'm screaming, hands clenching. I'm completely powerless. He grabs onto my hair and lifts my cheek from the floor.

"I'm going to skewer yyyou straight through," he whispers. I panic. I'm thrashing around, screaming. I ignore the pain and the blood. I want to run. I yell out Ichigo's name. I just keep yelling it as if it would stop him.

I feel his fingers squirming in my wounds. He keeps licking me, biting me and I just want to die.

"RRRed," he sings.

"Fuck you."

He brings his bloodied hand to my face and presses my cheek to the floor. I feel his cold hand down the arch of my back. I tell him to stop, just please stop or to kill me first. He starts to laugh and I flail underneath him wildly. Think of something! Fuck! Anything! I yell for Ichigo to stop; although I know this isn't Ichigo. I pray that someone well save me; although I know it's impossible. So I stop. I lie motionless and shut my eyes.

"RRRed?"

"Fuck you."

He laughs. "Just making sure yyyou were awakeee."

I can't speak anymore.

I'm in Australia.

Nope. I'm not. I can't even self-talk myself away.

This real. It's happening. And somewhere Soi Fon and Orihime are holding hands. Rukia is still in the Seireitei, not talking to me. Rangiku is still chasing after Captain Hitsugaya. And somewhere, the black bastard is following someone else home.

I wish I could cry, but I can't.

If only I could scream.

If only I could die.

And fuck, I just want to be saved.

Just like those waiting, unfixable patients, I want to be saved.

It's so ironic because I came here for my happy ending. I wanted him to save me from myself. To take my dark roads and turn the bad in me into good again, but I let my guard down; and life got me. He got me.

There are no happy endings, not in that fairy tale or romantic Hollywood-style sense. At the end of this road- all roads, there is only more darkness, more acrimony and unrest. That's the secret; the grand prize, the fucking wonderful Arcanum.

In this life, people can sell you happiness. It's on billboards. You call a number and order it. Simple. You don't chase down the moving ending. Oh no. Life is a hunter. It wants to kill you. It's out to get you. Your best friend- he hates you. That's the kind of world we live in.

We die to survive.

…

Sun drips off the white stucco walls of the hospital, running and pooling into the grass- the grass that's sodden with sunlight. Yes, everything is so fucking bright and happy. For real, it makes me paranoid.

Things can always get worse; that's how you know things aren't so bad. Now the sun is shining. It's warm and nice. And I'm wondering, why? What's coming next? Why's that sun so fucking bright?

"Mr. Abarai?" the questioning voice belongs to a nameless nurse, a young guy with blond hair. "Please don't sit in the flower beds. There's benches a plenty in the gardens."

"This is the only place with shade," I say. This is my puddle of shadow, my refuge against the prophetic sunshine.

"Maybe you should come inside?" he says, smiling.

"Nope," I say. Inside is where the sisterhood lurks. I'm not safe anywhere. I must remain in my darkness.

"Sir," he says. "It's not really my place, but… I overhear the doctors talking. They say you're not eating? You've lost a lot of weight."

It's only a gigai- not worth feeding.

"Sir?"

"Hey," I say. "Have you seen a big, black dog around here?"

"No… no animals are allowed on the premises sir." The guy sits down onto his knees. "You haven't left the hospital in a few days. That's rather out of character for you. You're usually always absent." He smiles a bit. "Did something happen outside?"

"Yes," I say. "Something happened."

"I thought so."

Genius. I'm just about sick of this human world.

"There's a small woman who has been asking about you," he says.

"Soi Fon?"

He laughs, "Her name is Shoalin."

"She said-"

"-I know. She tells everyone her name is Soi, but really her name is Shoalin. The doctors think she may be a compulsive liar. She's delusional too, always fantasizing about imaginary people and places."

"She's not a liar," I say. "She's a sex addict."

"Well, that's not so bad either." The young nurse grins. Can he talk about patients like that?

"You overhear the doctors, right?" I ask. He nods. "What else do they say about me?"

"Not much. You never show up to therapy, so what can they say?"

I point at the door. "Is Soi Fon still inside?"

…

I step off the elevator to the fourth floor, the windowless hallway. Something in my head clicks. In this hallway there is no sunlight shining. No bright warmth to taunt you, to tease you or tell you something horrible is going happen. And now this hallway doesn't seem as despairing as before.

I tap on the plastic screens framed within the metal doors. I want to see her. I want to see those cold, steely eyes in that little head of hers. The woman who grasps the entire world in a single glance, I want her.

I stand in front of my oracle's door and her tiny palm slaps against the screen. Her mouth is pulled slim and taut and she growls my name.

"Soi Fon!" I say with happiness and joy just foaming at my mouth. I'm practically jumping at her door yelling 'love me! Love me!' just like a lost puppy- like the black bastard. I make myself sick sometimes. Her thin brows curl together. She says nothing, only scowls. "Soi Fon, come on! Come out!"

"My curfew," she says.

"…Are you angry?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You've been ignoring me."

"I know. I'm sorry," and surprisingly, I actually am.

She sighs. "What happened?" She looks at me and knows I need specification. "Four days ago, you went out to talk to Kurosaki because I asked you to. You came back the next day and wouldn't talk to anyone." I nod. "So, what happened?"

"You're not hiding Orihime in there, are you?" I say. She shakes her head, somewhat bemused. "Alright, then." I look away from her steel eyes. "He almost killed me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, and other things," I don't want to remember. "It wasn't Ichigo, but it was."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like he was turning into a hollow," I say. "A fucking hollow."

She nods with understanding, taking in the information with calm perfection. "I see," she says. "How'd you escape?"

"I broke with my gigai and ran like hell."

"You left your gigai without outside help?"

"Yeah."

She nods again. She knows I must have been desperate to do it. In her eyes, I can tell she knows exactly what happened. Why I was desperate. Why I ran. She knows it wasn't just from death. She says, "You're wearing a new gigai, Renji. Where'd you get it?"

Even now, she still holds all the cards and I know I can't lie to her. I say, "_Urahara Shoten_."

…

She walks beside me with all this mustered grace. My oracle. My sex addicted friend. Soi Fon stares straight ahead without any doubt in her mind. She seems to have this newfound peace. Only her slight frown gives away her fire.

"You're more than ready for this," I say.

"Of course. I've been waiting for over a century." Her brows rest lightly on her steely eyes. She's reading the thoughts I haven't even realized yet. "He'll be there. You're uneasy about it. I can tell."

"Yeah," I say. "He'll be there. He'll be waiting for us." Ichigo, that is.

"It's a shame we're so predicable," the corners of her mouth tighten. We walk in silence for a moment. She's giving me time to think, but I don't use it. She says, "You have to forgive him."

"Why?" I say.

"Because he'll never forgive himself," and she could say more but she doesn't. She knows I hate talking about it.

"What'll you do when we get there?" I'm genuinely curious.

"My goal is to kill my friend. If he will not comply, he is my enemy and I kill my enemies."

"Huh. So you kill your friends and your enemies?" She smiles a bit; and to think she was preaching forgiveness only a moment ago. "Well, it looks like we're both walking towards our own trauma… Maybe we should just go for lunch instead?"

She shakes her head. There's no getting out of fate, it seems, and we turn onto our destination.

…

My gut wrenches and Soi Fon grabs onto my hand. I shake her off. In a few steps I'll be able to feel Ichigo's breath. That's how close we are. I see his skinny figure leaning on the side of the shop. Beside him is Kisuke Urahara.

I feel sick. Does this mean I'm cured of my APD?

Ichigo looks up at me with these big, swollen eyes. His spine straightens. He looks at me with this hopeless look and I just hate him. I didn't notice when, but I started running. I'm right at him now; my hands are pressed against his collar. I'm yelling about how I should kill him for what he did. Did he hear me? I'm going to kill him.

He only looks at me with his puffy eyes. Soi Fon is talking to Kisuke, but I'm not listening to what they're saying. I'm too busy calling Ichigo a sick bastard. My hands are trembling. They fall from his neck and I'm quiet.

Everything inside me is wrong. I hate it. Living is the problem. It's definitely the problem. How baffling. I start to laugh and I have to cover my face with my shaking hands. This is absurd. I've just got to laugh at it because if I don't, I'd have to fear it. I'd have to think and I don't want to think. I want to just die.

And there is Soi Fon- little, little Soi Fon who is just chubby with revenge. Her beautiful lips are moving. She's speaking. Her steel eyes are fixed and icy, so calm and cool. She wants her friend. I wonder whom she is to inspire such hatred in Soi Fon. Or is it hatred? Mayhap it is just a misplaced emotion. After all, why would you ever want to kill your friend?

And then this repeats over in my head. Why would you want to kill your friend? Why would _I_ want to kill _my__best friend_? Why? And the answer is, I would never. I look at Ichigo, my best friend- maybe more. For an afternoon we were lovers and I had felt attached to him. He was mine.

I grab onto his small wrist and pull him into me. I hold him and he melts against me. "There's nothing to forgive. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm sorry. It's not your fault." I'm mumbling and mumbling.

Later will come the explanations and the thinking. Later, but now it's only this. Just him and me. I'm drawing all these lines in myself. All this bits of experience, I'm tracing them back, connecting them. Maybe I was lying to myself all along. Was I ever guiltless? Was I ever so indifferent? If I was, then I wonder how I didn't notice _this one trivial detail_.

Maybe it's because I didn't stop. I just kept on bustling into the bodies, always looking back, always just thinking of myself. Now I've stopped moving and I'm holding onto him. How didn't I notice _this one trivial detail_? How didn't I notice I loved him?

I guess it's because I saw love as a savior, which it isn't. Love won't save you from shit. This kind of love, the kind I know, is helpless in the face of cruelty. It doesn't make you float or sigh or sing. Oh, no. It doesn't transform you or anything.

This kind of love is sticky and feels like your knee deep in a tar pit. You'll sink to your doom in this kind of love and there's no being rescued. You just keep sinking deeper and deeper in love. Eventually, you'll sink up to your throat and it'll fill with tar, and you'll choke on all this shitty love. And just out of your reach, is another pit with your beloved going under just as fast.

Yeah, in this world, we're doomed to love.

…

Soi Fon didn't kill her friend.

I didn't kill Ichigo.

I checked out of the hospital and started searching for the black bastard. They both helped me, but we never found him. Of course, Ichigo was relieved.

He made a formal apology to Orihime and this pleased the sisterhood. Oh, did I forget to mention? It had a new member, a dark skinned beauty. Yoruichi Shihoin.

Soi Fon has this new shine in her steel eyes. I see it as she stands between her recovered friend and Orihime. Her tiny hands are wrapped around theirs, a circle of sisterhood.

And Ichigo and me, we're just fine. We're best friends and sometimes more. We have afternoons when we make love, and other times when we just beat the shit out of each other. Nothing is perfect.

There are no happy endings in that fairy tale or romantic Hollywood-style sense. There are only people, real and deficient. And we're all just looking for fulfillment. We try to buy it; we try to chase it; we try to make it, but we'll never succeed. You just have to sink into the tar pit.

You gotta die to survive.

**Alright! That's it for 'THE DEEDS OF SAINTS'!!**

**Everything is nice and concluded, don'cha think? **

**Thanks so much for reading (and all the way to the end to!) **

**And because there was an inquiry pertaining to the title, I'll answer it here: **

**The title is implicit. Is Renji a christ-like figure? I dunno. **

**Does he try to shoulder all the wrong doings of mankind? Not really. But he does try to live, and just simply live. **

**Is Renji, as the narrative voice of the story, a figure of sainthood? **

**Maybe, and maybe not. **

**...I guess that didn't really answer the initial question ;) **


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